Color Theory
by withered
Summary: Some people die at sixty, Ichigo died at six. After his mother's death Ichigo loses the ability to perceive color, and then Rukia jumps through his window.


**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.**

.

Color Theory

.

Ichigo dreamed in color.

They were bright, vivid and radiated energy in every frequency of the spectrum. Every inhale felt like new life, and in his dreams he felt alive, and more importantly _she_ is alive.

In his dreams, he's a boy again.

He's chubby cheeked, shaggy haired and wearing a smile so broad it takes up most of his face; and he couldn't care less. His eyes are bright and hopeful, and they're looking up adoringly at the woman he calls his mother.

Her hair is the same color as his, her eyes the same shade; and he thinks he's the luckiest kid ever.

Orange hair gets you beat up, his older self retorts, but the younger him refuses to care because his mom has orange hair too and no one would dare hurt her. The older him wants to say something, anything at all, maybe warn him, maybe harden him in some way, maybe –

Their mother smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners and all he sees is the warm, sweet butterscotch color swirling in her irises, and he has lost the fight again.

The Ichigo borne from a black and white world can't bring himself to ruin it for either of them, and he plays pretend and lingers in their world of color, watching them stroll from place to place, and he thinks this world is too pretty to be real.

Everyone smiles from their eyes, the flowers that grow in their neat little beds reach for the sun and the grey sidewalk glitters with tiny diamonds embedded within it. The sun warms his skin, the moon cools the night, the stars wink in the heavens and the earth anchors him to the ground; the wind that blows feels like a caress and the water that laps at his ankles feels like a balm.

Somewhere there's laughter that's rich and full, and happy, and everything feels vivid and alive.

Until it's not; and his mother is lying face down in her own blood and all he can do is stand there and watch.

He feels the icy touch of the water, and the last color he sees is the glittering of the river as the sun sank into the horizon before the world of color fades to black, and he wakes to shades of grey.

The sun stopped smiling, the moon glared at him from its perch in heaven, and all color left.

It's not something most people think about; how important color is in one's world, how utterly disconnected and alienated you feel without it…

Everything looks and feels like grey to him, and the closest thing to that is a numb sensation that fills his body and forces him forward, on and on.

Some people die at sixty, Ichigo died at six.

His mother's death hit him the hardest, and for nine years he wandered in a world of black and white and shades of grey until the day he died for real, when a death butterfly not meant for him flutters through his window and is the only thing thus far in his world that is purple…

He rushes at the Hollow, a giant creature woven together by shadows and black threads with eyes that are large and grey and empty; the numb feeling that usually fills him recedes until it pulses instead: thump, thump, thump…

His mind races in harmony: Save Yuzu, save Karin.

And then that girl shows up, and the thumping turns into pounding and though he doesn't notice it at first, actual colors are flashing in the corners of his vision – the silver of the sword, the brown of her sandals, the stark white that borders her haori, the red logo on Karin's shirt, the pink of Yuzu's sneakers, the blue of his jeans –

There's a glare from the sword she wields as she blocks off an attack from the Hollow, putting herself in his path to take a hit she isn't entirely prepared for, and then he sees it: red, so much red… It's clear and bright, and the world he has inhabited in his waking hours shifts.

As she leans against the wall, her breath coming out in shallow pants, she raises her head to get her bangs out of her eyes; it's the second time he's seen purple and the more he stares, the more he knows that his life of living in black and white and shades of grey, are over.

"My name isn't Shinigami, its Kuchiki Rukia."

 _Heh._ Her small hands hold the hilt, guiding it to its intended destination while he holds the length of the sword itself, more than willing to drive it home.

Though her eyes are hard and glint with the same silver wink of the sword in his hand, he can read the question in her gaze, and his lips quirk. "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, _" and you're going to change everything._

The tip pierced, and there was light that burst from within his ribcage setting off in fireworks of blue and yellow, and the shift to his world was complete.

 _Thanks for the save, Rukia_.

 **A/n:** Written for a small competition with the theme "Rescue", probably not blatantly obvious, but it's a theme, hopefully it sticks xD Either way, written in thirty minutes, hope there wasn't too many errors *head desk* Thanks for reading!


End file.
